


the candle is imperative

by less_than_improbable



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bit out of character since one's dying, Bittersweet Ending, Confessions, Death Acceptance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Resolved Sexual Tension, Retirementlock, Waiting, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:50:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/less_than_improbable/pseuds/less_than_improbable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>67-year-old John gets called to a crime scene by his best friend whom he hasn't seen in fifteen years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the candle is imperative

**Author's Note:**

> Finished this while I was on a trip back to my dormitory. No edits, was done on a phone. A bit of break before finishing my baby thesis. This was inspired by the song "Wait" by M83. It sounded so bittersweet. And, well, I'm not known for happy endings lol.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the idea. 
> 
> Enjoy!

John was too old for this.

 

But, for Sherlock, it seemed he will never be.

 

"John," the ghost of that melodious velvet voice said. There, on silky purple sheets, was his best friend of thirty years. Or, rather, the man he pined for and deliberately tried to forget after his divorce with Mary.

 

And, here he was again, at his beck and call. At sixty-seven years old, he came here because of Sherlock's first ever call in fifteen years due to what he was informed of as a 'crime scene'. But, he knew it was something different. Mycroft told him, with a sad glare, that his brother was dying and probably wanted one last moment with him.

 

John couldn't figure out why Sherlock had to use a case as an excuse to call him. He'd come to him any time if he'd just call.

 

"I'm here," he said gently. He pretended to look around the room. "Too fancy to be a crime scene, this one."

 

He heard the familiar rumble in Sherlock's chest. "Seems like our man is a posh git."

 

"Might be Mycroft?" He suggested, before breaking into a giggle. Sherlock joined him as much as he could. Before long, silence ensued once again. John unconsciously stepped closer to the bed.

 

Sherlock pointed to his pocket slowly. "I've solved the case already. Could you text Mycroft that it was the German representative? I don't want him contaminating the crime scene with his rather voluptuous behind."

 

John did as he was told, before he reached the side of Sherlock's bed and knelt. He took his best friend's left hand tenderly and kissed the back of his hand. Surprisingly, unlike their situation years before, they were comfortable with this gesture. John thought his heterosexuality could go fuck itself. His pining for Sherlock never ceased, and it intensified through the years. Presented with this last chance to tell him, he found himself not caring about anything else but letting Sherlock know. As he said, he was getting too old with defending his pride.

 

Sherlock pulled up the rare smile John had only seen at certain instances before. Even if he got old, that smile never lost its ability to melt John. "Is this an invitation to a date?"

 

John rubbed circles on the man's wrist, trailing lower until he reached his elbow. The immaculate skin there before was replaced with a bunch of wrinkle-riddled patches. He breathed in Sherlock's scent, that never-changing smell of home, and sighed. "I love you," he whispered to his skin, replacing his fingers with his lips. He kissed what he could gently. "I will, always."

 

Sherlock chuckled. "After thirty years, you've finally asked me. Yes, take me to dinner, John." He squeezed John's hand as much as he could, then let out tiny pants of breathe after.

 

John carded his fingers through the other's hair and placed his hand on his cheek. He smiled back. Thankfully, the storm in his heart did not manifest on his face."Won't I get a response before I take you to dinner?"

 

"Maybe.." Sherlock pretended to nibble on his cheek. "Maybe if you kiss me, I'll say it back."

 

John did not hesitate to close the gap between them and capture Sherlock's lips in his. They were soft and perfect, as John had imagined years ago. He was surprised to taste a salty taste on his lips. He realized the hot streaks of tears on his cheeks. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock silently weeping, too. He broke the kiss softly, and caressed the side of Sherlock's face. "We've waited for so long."

 

Sherlock smiled at him once again. "It's inappropriate to ask me out in a crime scene, John." He turned his face away to yawn. "Could you sit on the bed, John? I want to lay down on your lap."

 

John silently got up and lay himself on the bed, slowly probing Sherlock's head to lay on his lap. He tenderly pulled back his best friend's disastrous curls away from his face. "When you wake, I'll properly take you out to Angelo's. We'll dance and get drunk on some cheap wine."

 

"Don't forget the candle," Sherlock mumbled, almost succumbing to sleep. "The candle is imperative."

 

"Yes, yes it is." John muttered, trying not to think that this was his last moment with his best friend. He tried to stop the tears from falling once again.

 

"John?" Sherlock said. "I love you."

 

For that, John smiled as he ushered his best friend peacefully to eternal slumber.


End file.
